


Make It Undone

by ashtopop



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Discussion of Major Character Death, F/M, Nightmares, Post-Sunken Tomb, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8054125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtopop/pseuds/ashtopop
Summary: Percy still dreams of Orthax. Not the dreams of offers and trades, but nightmares where the smoke engulfs him, and slowly consumes everything he loves from the inside out—corrupting and desecrating the people he holds closest. But mostly, he dreams of Vex.





	Make It Undone

Percy still dreams of Orthax. Not the dreams of offers and trades, but nightmares where the smoke engulfs him, and slowly consumes everything he loves from the inside out—corrupting and desecrating the people he holds closest. But mostly, he sees Vex.

He’s dreamed of Vex before, of course, of sighed whispers and “take off the mask, darling,” but in these dreams she speaks with the mocking baritone of the shadow demon. He dreams of dark, viscous smoke curling from behind her eyelids and underneath her fingernails, ashen clouds streaming from her mouth, open in a wordless scream of horror and pain. He dreams of Sylas Briarwood smirking as he rubs the last of her lifeblood from his lips, one hand dropping her lifeless, pale body on the ziggurat steps.

He dreams of the Sunken Tomb.

Heart beating rapidly, white hair plastered to his forehead and breathing harsh, he bolts up in bed. He rakes his hand through his hair, unkept spikes blending into the white pillow in the pale moonlight. Standing, he makes his way to the window where the nighttime sky is clear over Whitestone, the light shimmer of the protective barrier above them giving everything an eerie blue glow. Percy pulls on a pair of pants and his glasses, sure sleep has escaped him for the night.

He finds comfort in the repetitive motions of filling bullets and heating metal, processes he sinks into without thought. With his focus undivided, his time spent in his workshop is sometimes more restive than what sleep he attempts to get. His attitude in the mornings has guaranteed none will attempt to wake him, he is assured that—so long as he makes an appearance at breakfast—few questions will be asked about his empty bed.

He creeps from the room, attempting to make as little noise as possible. He keeps his hand on the wall in the dark hallway, using the smooth stone to guide him in lieu of a lamp.

Vex wakes from her sleep at a creak in the hall, a door softly opening and closing. There is no doubt in her mind who it is, because Percy’s sleepless nights across the hall are a calling card of Whitestone—which, no matter how beautiful it is, still stirs memories within him he can’t quite seem to will away. Vex rises, braiding her hair over her shoulder by light of the moon, smoothing a hand over her pillow absently.

She pads to her own door and opens it silently, fulfilling an unspoken promise not just from her lips to him, but from all of Vox Machina to each other. No one fights their demons alone. The white stone is cold under bare feet, but Percy’s forge is warm. She waits, allowing him to settle in and rein in the pride he clings to so desperately, petting Trinket with one hand. Then she follows him into the dark hallways of Whitestone Castle, making her way to the reinforced door that stands outside his workshop.

“Percy?” she asks, voice hoarse with sleep, pushing the door open an inch. He doesn't respond to the call, but his shoulders tense. “Percy, dear, may I come in?” He sighs.

“Yes, of course. Come in. Do shut the door behind you, though,” his voice is hoarse as well. She swallows, pushing into the room and closing the door with one hand. She moves slowly, silently, not wanting to startle him. The wildness in Percy is nothing she hasn’t experienced before, but that makes her heart ache all the deeper at the lonely pain inside him.

Another moment he would undoubtedly scold her for walking into his workshop barefooted, but in another moment she wouldn’t have larger concerns. She inspects him, lips pursing as she climbs onto the workbench, feet dangling a foot off the ground. Normally she wouldn’t be concerned with the burst of productivity, but the last time he’d spent this much time in a workshop he’d been engulfed in a smokey haze of vengeance, plotting against the return of the Briarwoods.

Percy had shed waistcoat, frock coat and gloves in favor of sooty white sleeves rolled to his elbows. His nightshirt is untucked from his pants and a fine sheen of sweat shows on his brow and in the muscles flexing in his forearms as he poured melted metal into bullet molds. Behind him, forty finished bullets wait to be filled with black powder, and a handful of new arrows await Vex in one of her older quivers. The orange glow of the forge fire backlights the angles of his face, casting his hair into flames and glaring off his glasses.

She sits in silence, eyes tracing the planes of his face, but unassuming. Listening, waiting, but trying not to pressure him. Every scar he has was not so obvious as those that knotted around his fingers and knuckles, the tokens of tinkering. Some, she thinks, required more than good night vision to see.

“I’ve had a thought,” Percy starts. There is a long pause to collect his thoughts. “I’ve had a thought, and... I don’t like what it says about me.”

“You can tell me, darling. You don’t have to, but you can,” she says, leaning back against her elbows. The rough stone surface digs in but she ignores it, eyes intent on his.

“I would have burned the world to get you back, and I realized...” Percy’s words come out in a flurry punctuated by a sigh. He pushes his glasses up as he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes not meeting hers. "I'm not a religious man, you know that. The deal Delilah Briarwood made, I would have made—would make—for you. I would champion any god that brought me back to you." Her breath caught in her throat. "I don't know how to justify that hypocrisy. How to make it right. I don't know if I want to.” Vex’s eyes go wide, her eyes closing in a long blink as she attempts to process his words.

“Percy, I-"

“It’s late, Vex. You don’t have to respond. You can pretend I didn’t just say the things I did if you want. But that… that is what is keeping me up tonight. And most nights.” He cracked a self-deprecating, crooked smile and she coughed out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

"You're not like them," she says, voice even and assured. At his skeptical look she grabs his shoulders, peering into his eyes with unflinching determination. “Percival, I don't have or need the strength to make you a good man. You  _are_ a good man."

“I have it within me to be truly horrible, Vex. Tyrannical and haughty and _vengeful,_ and I don’t wish that upon any of my friends—least of all you."

“You silly man,” she says, running her fingertips lightly through the hair curling over his hair, tucking it behind with gentle fondness. Her thumb brushes under the lens of his glasses, stroking against the deep purple bags that have risen under his eyes in recent weeks. They are silent, contemplative, staring at each other as they settle into stillness together. “You silly, darling man. You couldn’t wish me away if you tried.”

Percy startles at her words and Vex leans forward, eyes closing he instant before her lips touch his. He’s warm and, under the black powder and smoke, smells like _Percy_. Percy, who lends her his coat when she shivered in the winter. Percy, whose blush climbs down the back of his neck each time she kisses him on the cheek. His hand comes up behind her head, cupping it and drawing her into a deeper kiss leaned back against the workbench. The thin fabric of their nightclothes slide between them in a tempting promise, and she learns the talents of Percy’s silver tongue extends to other pursuits. His stubble grates against her smooth skin but she pushes back against it, tilting her head and letting her hand drop to his neck.

When she pulls away with a sigh of satisfaction she keeps her eyes closed, listening to the crackle of the wood fire next to them and the elevated pulse of his heart. She opens her eyes to the sight of him staring at her with wonder, and, looking down, the marks of his sooty fingertips across her white silk nightdress. She can’t find it within her to care, giddy with the feeling of them, broken as they are, finding a place for each other amongst their own rough edges.

Percy dives back in with characteristic intensity, her chin lifting as his kisses trail down her jaw and neck, his palms sliding down her shoulders. The rough and calloused skin raises goosebumps on her own and sends a shiver down her spine she chases by arching into him, breasts rubbing against him the thin silk material as she groans.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his fingers stilling against her arms. She pulls away, closing her mouth against her harsh breathing and nodding solemnly. He nods to himself, shaking his head as if to cast away thoughts and reaching for her breasts through the material of her nightgown. He palms them, lightly massaging as she moves to his collar, his skin salty on her tongue as she explores the hollows of his clavicle. He rocks against her core, growing erection pressing against  her, and she rolls her hips to cant back into him, groans on both of their lips.

His thumbs flick over her sensitive nipples, the heat of him in stark contrast to the cold silk, and in return she presses her hands up the cloth of his shirt, fingertips skimming lean muscle and catching on fabric she pulls up and over his head, tossing on the floor nearby. Her eyes scan the expanse in front of her, pale skin bisected by scars and a dark patch of hair trailing into his waistband. She bites her bottom lip and looks up at him, tracing the deep lines of his hipbones with her thumbs, looking up at him.

“Bedroom,” she whispers. He nods and directs his attention to the other side of her neck, pressing deep kisses into the tender skin as he moves his hands from her chest to settle at her ass, pushing up under her and lifting her onto him. Her center is pressed to his growing erection, the pressure and pants seam between them causing her to tense and flex against him as he steps away from the table, letting her slide to her feet.

At the door he lets out a steadying breath, using his back to open the double-hinged entrance behind him and proceeding down the hallway. She brushes past him to lead, one hand trailing behind her and twisting to entangle with his. His other hand is at her hip, guiding her down the hallway with his lips on her neck, their steps heavy and unhurried. His bedroom door gives them no end of trouble, their fumbling attempts to open it frustrated by the other’s hands and mouth, distracting open-mouthed kisses placed on bare skin. His door finally gives to them and they crash through, electric currents clashing against each other in the dark.

Their skin glows in the moonlight, but their eyes are hollow and ghostly in shadow, shutting the door behind them and falling into bed, hands questing with fervor usually reserved for battle. He has felt lightning in his veins before, but now his blood thunders through his veins, a pulse tied to the woman before him.

She lays back, her arms around his neck pulling him down with her. She plucks the glasses from his nose, twisting to set them on the bedside table. The instant she returns to him their lips meet as he pulls himself flush with her. Her hands skim down his chest again, coming to rest at his waistband. Nimble fingers undo the buttons in moments, material falling slack against his ass. He shimmies, stepping out of the pooled fabric. Her fingers trail down his upper thighs, cupping his balls and sliding her archery-roughened fingertips over the length of him. He gasps against her mouth and she presses her advantage with a sly smirk, tongue chasing his with her arm trapped between them. She puts slight pressure on the underside of his cock, sliding against the vein there.

Percy pulls away from the kiss in a moment, his eyes on hers. He pushes the fabric of her nightdress up over her milky thighs, pulling the ties on the scrap of cloth between them. It falls to the side in a crumpled ball, fluttering to the floor. His eyes rake over her in awe, hands absently massaging her breasts, tracing scars scattered in small purplish-blue tracks over ivory skin. In her impatience she reaches for him, pulling him down onto her. Both groan as their most sensitive spots collide clumsily, her hips lifting by instinct. His lips trail from her mouth down her chest, settling at her nipple—tweaking the other—and continuing to forge a path down her body. He presses small, open-mouthed kisses down down her ribcage and onto the taut muscles of her stomach, trailing into the inside of her thigh.

He looks up at her with dark eyebrows raised and she nods. The scent of her is intoxicating, and he begins by dipping one finger to her wetness, dragging it against his tongue. Her fist clenches in the sheets, head thrown back and neck exposed, hips rolling to seek friction. He sinks one long finger inside her slick heat, the clench of her muscles almost as delicious to him as the light drag is inside her. He thrusts the finger in, then out, thumbing her clit before moving it aside in favor of his mouth.

His stubble rubs against her thighs but she finds she doesn’t care when the tip of his tongue touches her, sliding against her in a rhythm tapped out on the beat of her heart. He adds another finger, beginning to stretch her as each knuckle slides into her wetness. He matches tempo, long practiced at delicate tasks, fingers strong against her but not too harsh—taking only what she can give him when she can.

When she begins rocking back against him he steps up his pace, setting one that leaves a sheen of sweat on her body and a trembling to her breath. He sucks against her clit and she keens, his fingers pistoning in and out of her. His Adam’s apple bobs with the motion and greedy, vulgar noises fill the stone room, the sound of his tongue on her, his fingers within, and the breathy moans of her reaction. She falls apart faster, plummeting into a cascade of sparks and arching against his hands, one coming up to steady her hips. Her breath catches in her throat and a low moan escapes her. Percy smirks against the inside of her thigh. He isn’t a religious man, he’d told her, but he doesn’t being invoked like a god.

“Come here,” she says. He climbs astride her and lays nose to nose above her, his erection pressed against her abdomen—leaving the smallest trace of pre-cum on her nightgown. She presses her forehead to his and guides his cock to her, eyes never leaving his as she positions him within her. She clenches her teeth against the enticing slide of him entering her, his hips slowly coming to hers—seating himself fully within her. His eyes close and he releases a rough breath, heartbeat rapid to her keen ears.

He pulls himself from her, nearly pulling out, before plunging back into her wet heat, her pulse in his ear jumping with encouragement. She puts her hands on his shoulders, holding him steady as he drives home again, the slow drag and weight of him settling inside her in all the best ways. The material of her dress rucked up to her hips brushes against his each time he thrusts, cool silk a contrast against their overheated skin. 

She clenches around him, rocking back down onto him with every thrust, hilting him ever deeper. Finally he tumbles over the edge, pulsing warmth inside her, a smaller orgasm rolling through her as she rides the waves of his pleasure. Percy’s low groan of her name is worth the added trouble, but she’s glad she knows enough of spell casting it won’t truly be a problem.

Meeting Percy’s eyes in the hazy afterglow she laughs with delight, pressing her face to his chest where he slumps beside her. She can feel the heat of him seeping out of her and into the sheets, the lazy evidence of their coupling staining the fabric. The crest of Whitestone is emblazoned in black ink on his chest and she kisses it, sleepiness already settling into her bones.

Lost in thought, his fingers toy with the undone strands of her braid, made ink-dark by night. She hums, settling against him, her head on his chest.

“Will you stay?” he asks. His voice is cautious, hopeful, and rough with their lovemaking. In the moonlight she sees more of Percy’s scars than he’s let her see before, those that hide under layers of clothing and misdirection. She runs a finger down one on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to it.

“Always. darling. Always."

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening: "Hometown" by twenty one pilots
> 
> Tumblr: considermehacked


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